


Horticulture and Alchemy

by AngeNoir



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Developing Relationship, M/M, Post-War, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-04-15 00:54:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4586907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngeNoir/pseuds/AngeNoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco hadn't meant to bump into Neville. Well, let's put it this way - he hadn't intended to go out and search for Neville, but he was at a greenhouse after all, and unlike Draco, Neville had continued his life after the war and made very steady progress in his field. It had apparently created a confidence in Neville that Draco found attractive. Not that he could do much about it; he himself had retreated for a while from the world, and it threw his socializing skills into disrepair.</p><p>Good thing Neville has that confidence though. They just might make this work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Horticulture and Alchemy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [reeby10](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reeby10/gifts).



> I really hope this is okay x.x;;

The first time Draco saw Neville after the war, it was more by accident than anything.

Okay, not really, but it was true that Draco didn’t expect to have to end up at this shop. After the war, Draco had sequestered himself away on Malfoy grounds – what was left of them, after the Ministry had demanded (and gotten) reparations. It had taken him almost two years to get himself back out in the magical world, and he may not have been the cocky person everyone knew from Hogwarts, but he was determined to make a name for himself separate from the past. So he took his knowledge and what little money he had left and bought high quality potion ingredients. It wasn’t difficult to get his potions into stores; apothecaries would take any potion that passed the test that proved the potion was what it was supposed to be. Once he had proven his reputation with potions, he began to receive requests from both the apothecaries and commissions from clients directly. Over time, he increased his prices, bettered his product, and created more and more superior potions.

That meant, though, that he needed better ingredients. And the only person who consistently provided excellent product was… Neville Longbottom.

Neville had set up shop after school in one of the foremost greenhouses, and had quickly risen in rank to co-lead the entire greenhouse. Along with his numerous duties, he handled the temperamental plants that had the rarest clippings. Getting anything of use for potions that was consistently high quality meant talking to and dealing with Neville, which was made even more unlikely considering that Neville was only ever in on the weekends.

So. First time Draco saw Neville after the war, it was more by accident than anything.

“Saying that you need it in a louder voice is not going to actually make it happen any faster,” Neville said calmly.

“All I’m saying is that the quality of ingredients needs to meet the most exacting standards and the fact that you don’t have clippings ready on hand—”

“—is a testament to the fact that we only give out clippings on rare occasions. This is a research and breeding facility, primarily.” Neville rocked back on his heels and pulled away another twig with leaves, delicately laying it on the silk scarf he had placed on the floor next to his foot. “Coming in here to harass me while I do this isn’t necessary, you know.”

Draco bit his lip and folded his arms, feeling sweat drip down his back. He was wearing his thick woolen cloak and while it was winter outside of the greenhouse, it definitely wasn’t here inside. “Perhaps I just wanted to oversee your work, get a feel for the health of your plants.”

Neville turned around to lift an eyebrow at Draco. “If you’re going to pout, you can do that just as easily in my office. Where you won’t swelter either.”

“I’m good,” Draco sniffed. “I’d prefer to watch.”

Neville’s lips twisted up in a sly smile. “Would you now?”

With a surprised blink, Draco reflexively gave Neville a once-over. He hadn’t thought about it before, but Neville was definitely more filled out. He wasn’t as muscular as others, or as narrow in the face as most purebloods, but Neville was…

Neville let out a chuckle, and Draco blushed deeply. “It wasn’t like that!”

“Of course not,” Neville laughed, taking one more twig with a few leaves and laying it on the scarf. “But you were thinking it.”

“What if I said I was? Watching, I mean.”

Again, Neville turned around, but this time there was no joking and no remarks – nothing at all except Neville’s speculative smile. “Well, then. Perhaps tomorrow you and I could find ourselves somewhere nice to eat, hmm?”

“Um,” Draco said intelligently, and then he thought, for a moment, about returning to his empty mansion, the rooms he avoided, the echoing silence. “Why not?” he ended up saying.

***

Which was how Draco found himself worrying over his attire mere minutes before the appointed time. He stared at himself in the mirror, the edges of it glowing with a spell that would help him pick the appropriate color that would match his skin the best.

Part of his brain was telling him it was _Neville_. He didn’t need to impress Neville, not really.

But there was the other part that remembered Neville from yesterday, not from years ago. The Neville that was confident and assured, who had worked in his passion since the war, who hadn’t gone and become a shut-in for a few years. He was solidly built, and he… seemed kind. This relationship seemed definitely possible, so long as he didn’t screw it up.

“Master is to be going out?”

Draco looked down at the house-elf, Willa, and gave her a nervous half-smile. “Yes, Willa, I – I will be having dinner with Neville Longbottom.”

“Good for Master to be getting out of the house, having fun again,” Willa said, patting his hand. “You will be late?”

“Ah – yes, Willa, thank you.” He was going to be a little late now, and so he moved quickly over to the fireplace and then paused. “Willa is this – should I?”

Willa arched an eyebrow at him. “Master needs something other than work and brooding.”

Draco let out a half sigh and nodded firmly. “Okay. Okay then.”

***

He met up with Neville at the Leaky Cauldron, only a couple of minutes off, and smiled nervously. He wasn’t sure how to proceed, and so he paused, a bit awkwardly, and didn’t know what to say.

“Do you want to go to a different place or get a private booth?”

“Ah – whatever you’re comfortable with. I don’t mind either. I know the Leaky Cauldron, and its menu, so it may be more comfortable here.”

Neville nodded, considering, and then turned to the barkeep to get them a booth. Draco held himself stiffly, unwilling to let anyone see him at anything less than his best and in control. He had worked hard to rebuilt a semblance of reputation after the war, and he wasn’t about to do anything to jeopardize that right now.

When they sat down, Neville raised an eyebrow at Draco – who fought not to blush. But Neville didn’t say anything, simply gave his order to the witch waiting on them. Draco did the same and then lifted his chin challengingly. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing at all,” Neville said with a shrug. “I know what it’s like to try to keep your dignity intact. As I recall, you were the cause of most of my lost dignity.”

Draco dropped his gaze to the table and tried not to grind his teeth. It was obvious he couldn’t expect people to forget his past, but he’d… had hopes, about this, and this dinner. Clearing his throat, he lifted his chin stiffly, saying, “Well, I’m sorry for taking up your time, Longbottom—”

But before he could finish his ‘polite’ goodbye and leave to shut himself in his bedroom for the night and possibly the next week, Neville was reaching out and grabbing Draco’s wrist gently.

“No, wait, I’m – I’m sorry. That shouldn’t have come out. I want to make a good impression on you, and I’m a bit nervous. My apologies.”

Draco stared at him a long moment before letting his muscles relax and murmuring, “I can hardly take you to task for it. It was not like I was kind in any form, or that I am any less nervous.”

With a smile, Neville leaned back in his chair. “Well,” he said. “How about we start over?”

“Blank slate?” Draco said, raising an eyebrow.

“No, simply – realize that we don’t know anything about each other anymore. And so no more assumptions on my part, and you stop looking at the world like it personally offended you on yours.” Neville spread his hands a little, and Draco couldn’t help it – he laughed a little and tried to consciously make his shoulders relax.

“So,” Neville said. “What have you been doing? I mean, obviously, Potions Master, but what’ve you been doing with that?”

Draco resettled the cutlery as he spoke – something that calmed him, made it easier for him to talk. “Well, even as Potions Master there’s only so much money for quality ingredients. In order to market your potions, you either need to have an agreement with an apothecary or the start-up money for your own store. Lacking either, you need to get your potions on the shelves, and you do that by paying a modest stocking fee, and then your product gets placed on the shelves. Eventually, as more people recognize the quality of your work, you get more personalized requests. The apothecary gets a commission, of course, since they showcased your talent, but it’s enough for a modest living.” Draco paused as their server returned with their food, and then fussed with the napkin. “How about you? The head of Medusa Horticulture; that’s not an easy thing to accomplish at your age.”

Neville laughed. “It was luck more than anything. I’d had my fill of bloodshed and trouble. Most of my – I mean, our yearmates did, you know – either they found a taste for it, and joined the Aurors or something similar, or they went the completely opposite direction. I heard Hannah took five years off and just traveled…” After a few moments, he shook his head. “But Herbology was where I really felt the most comfortable, most secure. I was good enough that I could get Professor Sprout’s endorsement. Her recommendation letter got me into Medusa, and I work there on the weekends.”

“The weekends?” Draco repeated before he could help himself.

Neville smiled. “Yes, I teach at Hogwarts during the week.”

Draco clamped down on all his instinctive reactions at remembering that school. “Really?” he asked, because he knew Neville’s memories of the place couldn’t be any better than Draco’s, and probably were a lot worse. “Willingly?”

“I know what it felt like at that school, and what I needed from my teachers,” Neville said, and his voice was sober. “I want to make sure someone else who needed what I needed gets it.”

Draco stared at his plate and took a deep breath. “That is admirable, Longbottom,” he said, seriously and sincerely. “I could not do that, and I know it.” He looked up to see Neville’s eyes, soft and a little sympathetic. “The very fact you returned to that building—” He shook his head, and took a careful bite of his food.

“You returned to your family’s home,” Neville pointed out. “Not to be too blunt or rude, but surely there are memories there you cannot stand.”

Draco barked out a laugh and shook his head. “You’re quite correct. There is an entire wing I never enter. I’ve had the house-elves shut off dozens of rooms.”

“Sometimes, the hardest choice is to understand that nothing can be done,” Neville murmured. “I can’t say it’s easy walking through Hogwarts, and there are still some points I’ll do my best to avoid.”

“It’s a sign of weakness, my father says.” Almost immediately after saying that, Draco bit his tongue. He was an adult now, and still whining about his father? It was embarrassing and not at all what he had intended to say.

Neville let out a sigh from the other side of the table. “Sometimes I wonder if my grandmother and your father would get along without the mix of politics in there. She also says I’m hiding from the world, hiding my true war-mage talents in the dirt.”

Draco raised his head to meet Neville’s wry, empathetic gaze, and it became easier to talk then, to discuss the interesting highlights of their respective jobs, to share their goals. Before Draco had realized it, it was nearing eleven in the evening, and he was having a good time.

But it was Neville who leaned back first and sighed. “Ah, I should get going,” he said. “School day tomorrow, and I have fifth years first thing in the morning.”

“Which houses?” Draco asked.

Chuckling, Neville stood up and replied, “Hufflepuffs and Slytherins. That class is never without adventure.” He reached into his pocket and Draco practically leapt up.

“No, no, allow me to pay,” Draco said hurriedly.

“I invited you, if you recall,” Neville said, but he sounded both pleased and bemused.

Draco shrugged and tried to say, as casually as he could, “You can get the next time.”

Neville’s eyes warmed, and, taking Draco’s hand, he leaned forward – and Draco had not been expecting anything of the sort, so he had not had time to react at all to the sudden move – to brush a kiss against Draco’s knuckles. “Since I picked where we ate today,” he said against Draco’s fingers, making Draco fight back a shiver as his hot breath played over over-sensitive skin, “you pick the next place.”

***

One date turned into two, then three, and then two months of dates on every Sunday night. It became easier and easier to talk, and they went to the magical floating gardens, to parks and to clubs. Neville was surprisingly a good dancer and loved animals, and Draco loved watching Neville dance and also enjoyed animals. The orbits got tighter and tighter, until two and a half months in Neville kissed Draco’s mouth instead of Draco’s hand and whispered, “I can’t come back to your place, since I have to teach in the morning, but you are welcome to come to mine.”

Draco had had fumbling relationships that barely qualified as ‘relationships’ in fourth and fifth year, but sixth and seventh year had found him too… busy to do anything at all. He’d had a few one-nighters with people he met after his years shut in his mansion, but nothing that made his mind and body light up at the thought of sex the way Neville’s invitation did. Swallowing hard, he murmured, “Let me – let me inform the house-elves not to expect me.”

Neville chuckled, but it was warm, not mocking, and so Draco relaxed the nervous tension in his shoulders and tapped his wristwatch. It linked to his clock in the kitchens, and it shifted to move his hand to ‘back by morning’ slot.

“Willa worries?” Neville asked, and Draco didn’t know how to put into words how happy and safe it made him feel, that Neville both understood the familial relationship he had with his house-elves and respected it.

Draco laughed. “Willa stays up to ask me how it goes,” he said fondly. “I’d rather make sure she sleeps tonight.”

“I think it’s going well, don’t you?” Neville said, smiling cheekily, and Draco impulsively leaned in and pressed a kiss against Neville’s mouth.

It was deeper and more arousing than Draco had intended, and when they finally pulled away, Draco’s heartbeat was racing and his chest heaving.

Neville looked no less affected, eyes dilated and lips reddened, shoulders strung tight with tension. “Well,” he said hoarsely. “I’d say you agree with me.”

“We’re standing outside the club. I’d much rather a bed,” Draco murmured.

Taking Draco’s arm, Neville Apparated the both of them, and they ended up in Hogsmeade, on the doorstep of a small cottage. Draco tried to look around in the dark, get a feel for the house, but before he could really glance around Neville cupped one hand behind his head and kissed him, slow and deep and thoroughly until Draco was panting into Neville’s mouth, leaning against Neville. That wasn’t ideal, really – though Neville was stockier, broader in shoulder and chest and leg than Draco, Draco was taller by a few inches, and so Draco stumbled back.

Neville stiffened, looking contrite, but Draco quickly linked fingers with Neville. “Bed,” Draco said hoarsely. “Or, hell, floor, but inside. I’d rather not put on a show.”

Immediately, Neville turned to the door and spelled it open, dragging Draco inside and then pressing Draco against it, shoving it closed pretty much with Draco’s body as his hands splayed over Draco’s chest, his mouth chased Draco’s lips. Draco couldn’t help himself; he moaned and arched his back. He’d never been manhandled like this, moved and tugged and rearranged, and he found that he liked it, liked that Neville covered him with his body and kissed him senseless.

Sometime later, Neville pulled back, breath coming in gasps and shudders, and he said weakly, “We’ll both regret it if we don’t actually go somewhere other than the door.”

“I don’t think I’ll complain,” Draco grunted, but he couldn’t stop smiling.

“I’m a better host than this, normally,” Neville said sheepishly. “Also, my house is normally cleaner than this—”

Draco stumbled forward, the front of his robes undone and his shirt unbuttoned so that the cool air tickled against his chest and abdomen. “If you’re seriously going to apologize for your house right now I’m just going to go down on you right here.”

“Oh Merlin,” Neville whimpered, and he turned and quickly walked down the hall to a small door.

Neville’s bedroom was lit very gently by a glowing stone on the nightstand, but Draco only had eyes for the cool silver light that highlighted Neville’s black hair, touched on Neville’s bared shoulders (Draco dimly remembered peeling Neville’s shirt off and leaving it discarded on the floor by the door) and Neville himself, standing in the middle of the room. Before Neville could say anything, Draco hastily shoved off his robes and shirt – he flinched a little, as he did every time he saw his own Dark Mark, a white scar against the inside of his arm – and then reached for his trousers.

“Wait—” Neville said, coming over and nearly tripping to fall on his knees before Draco. Amazed, and more than a little turned on, Draco shuddered as Neville delicately undid the fastenings on his trousers, slid them and Draco’s silk briefs down his legs. When Draco was completely nude, boots and stockings included, Neville leaned back on his heels and eyed Draco like Draco was a particularly good cut of beef he wanted to devour whole.

Draco trembled under that possessive gaze.

“Go ahead and get on the bed,” Neville rumbled.

Scrambling to obey, Draco moved to the bed and turned around to see Neville efficiently shucking off his clothes – Draco spared a brief regret he hadn’t had the chance to do that himself – and then standing at the end of the bed, lit in soft silver, hard cock jutting forward.

Draco swallowed.

“I want to see you,” Neville said, and his voice was low, authoritative, making something in Draco’s brain spark and purr in pleasure. “Are you okay with that? How long has it been?”

“Long enough that you probably should use a little bit more than the standard spells,” Draco replied, and he laid back on the bed, hooked hands on his knees and spread his legs. He felt a little self-conscious, embarrassed – he’d fought to rebuild his reputation, after all, and his strict rules he followed were definitely unhappy with the position. But he trusted Neville, and more than that, he wanted this.

And, by the way Neville’s breathing increased, Neville was as eager for this as Draco was.

Clambering onto the bed, Neville murmured the spells that lubricated and protected from disease, and then planted one hand next to Draco’s ribs and, kneeling up, slid the other to Draco’s ass, playing with the rim. “God, you’re beautiful,” he whispered, drinking in the sight of Draco and Draco could feel the flush trickle down his throat, into his chest, but then Neville’s finger slipped in.

He had been right – it had been a while, and he needed to be stretched, the lubrication would not be enough on its own – but he’d forgotten how much he enjoyed being fingered and stroked, how much he loved feeling the push and give of his body. He panted hard, knuckles going white as he gripped tighter at his knees, and Neville chuckled warmly.

“So serious,” Neville hummed, dropping his head to press a kiss against Draco’s sternum, rub his nose in the fine hairs there. “Let’s see if we can change that.”

Neville’s finger changed angle and Draco felt lightning shoot up his spine. With a gasp, his hand slipped and his knee hit Neville’s shoulder, but he couldn’t even be bothered to grab at his knee again because then Neville was moving up to suck on Draco’s neck. Whimpering – his neck was one of his most sensitive areas, honestly – Draco twitched his hips, trying to speed up Neville’s steady rhythm, and then he gasped when a second finger slid in, scissoring and stretching Draco wider.

“Merlin,” Draco gasped, clenching one hand so that his nails dug into his skin and the other hand fisted in the sheets, trying to anchor himself. “Oh, Merlin, Neville, please!”

“One more finger,” Neville growled, looking on the edge of losing control himself. “One more—”

“Fuck one more!” Draco yelped, back bowing when Neville’s fingers pressed insistently at his prostrate.

Laughing, Neville eased a third finger in, and it was intense, pressing against Draco’s insides, and he was gasping for breath when Neville removed his fingers and lined himself up, upper arms braced against the bed as he sank into Draco’s ass. Draco grunted, feeling lingering discomfort (he probably should not have encouraged Neville to go so fast), but Neville paused, rocking minutely, and finally Neville was fully seated, balls pressed against Draco’s ass, and Draco was breathing in high-pitched pants, on the edge of keening like a wild animal as Neville took time to get his composure.

Then Neville dragged out, leaving Draco feeling empty and hollow, and _slammed_ in.

“Morgana’s _tits_ Neville oh bollocks oh shit,” Draco babbled, hands now clawing at Neville’s shoulders, one of his legs twisted and caught up by Neville’s shoulder, the other curled around Neville’s waist, and it was a bit uncomfortable but Morgana and Merlin it was worth it.

Neville let out a breathless chuckle and began to set up a punishing rhythm, snapping his hips forward, and it was highly embarrassing but all Draco could do was rake his nails over Neville’s back and hold on for the duration of the ride. All too soon Neville’s muscles tensed and he let out a wordless, broken cry, coming in Draco’s ass.

Then he let out a shuddering sigh and pulled out, dragging a wounded cry from Draco’s throat. Before Draco could gather his wits to say or do anything, however, Neville’s fingers were back, four of them, _really_ stretching Draco, and Neville’s mouth closed over Draco’s dick.

It was Draco’s turn to come in an embarrassingly short time, and he didn’t even realize what he was babbling, only knew that he was bucking up hard into Neville’s mouth and dimly he felt bad for doing that, only he couldn’t really do anything else _except_ writhe, liquid slowly seeping out of his ass and squelching as Neville stroked his prostrate and swallowed around Draco’s dick.

He must have blacked out, because he only hazily came back to his senses at a cooling sensation – a cleaning charm, over his skin and the bed – before drifting off to sleep.

He woke in the early morning, aware of soft snores from beside him. Shifting made him realize that he was on his back, tucked up against Neville’s chest, who was curled against his side, one arm thrown across his abdomen and the other underneath the pillows. Sunlight trickled in the window to drape over the two of them, the sheet tangled around the two of their legs, the honey-glow of Neville’s tanned skin, the homey, cozy feel of Neville’s bedroom.

Looking back at Neville’s face revealed Neville’s eyes were cracked a little, and when Draco looked at him Neville gave Draco a sleepy, goofy smile. “I need to piss,” he mumbled. “Stay put?”

“Hmm,” Draco mumbled in the affirmative, and he watched Neville clumsily roll out of bed and nearly trip going into the bathroom.

He had never envisioned his life going this way, he realized, feeling a comforting lassitude in his limbs, warmth and happiness in his chest. But he’d be damned before he said he was disappointed.

It was everything he ever wanted.


End file.
